"I—I can't," I blurted miserably.
"Yes, you can," he insisted with obstinacy. "Go and do it now."
With a gesture of desperation I pressed the bell.
"If I am going to tell her anything," I mumbled between my teeth, "I'll say it right here." Dibdin laughed ghoulishly.
"This cowardice—this shrinking from life," he philosophized detestably—"that's what our kind of education brings about."
Griselda appeared at the door.
"You rang, Mr. Randolph."
"Yes—er—yes, Griselda," and I felt myself idiotically hot and flushed. "I wanted to say—" and beads of perspiration prickled my forehead. Then in desperation, I stammered out,
"Mr. Dibdin, Griselda—he is dining here to-night—that's all, Griselda!"
Dibdin's laugh rattled throatily in the room. How I hated him at that moment! Griselda swept us with an impenetrable glance.